


The Return of El Gato

by Croik



Category: The Rundown (2003)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2003-12-25
Updated: 2003-12-25
Packaged: 2017-12-28 23:31:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,731
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/998218
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Croik/pseuds/Croik
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Travis asks for Beck's help on a late night errand that doesn't end like Beck thought it would.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Return of El Gato

**Author's Note:**

  * For [cathybites](https://archiveofourown.org/users/cathybites/gifts).



> In honor of it being Yuletide season, I decided to toss up my first ever Yuletide from 2003. TEN YEARS gosh I feel old. I only fixed a few things I couldn't bear to leave in, so otherwise it's Vintage Croik. Should be good for a chuckle at least, haha.

11:07 p.m. The doors were closed, the last orders taken and served--it was unquestionably Beck's favorite part of the day. Having left the kitchen clean-up to his workers he slipped into a suit coat and wandered out into the main dining room. There were never many customers this late, but more than in most other restaurants around town. All the young couples were curious about the newest hangout in town, with its casual setting and creative menu offerings, though nothing drew attention to _Beck's_ as much as its popular head chef and owner. A few would even stay this late at the restaurant's small bar to just shake his rumored-to-be very large hand. More than once he was questioned on his motives for becoming a chef rather than an athlete.  
  
"Well," Beck replied with his characteristically boyish grin to one of his late-night customers, "let's just say I'm not photogenic."  
  
He laughed at a few jokes, accepted the phone number of a skinny red-head in a suit, and turned down a few offers to arm-wrestle before declaring it was finally closing time. Pleasant days like this... he had decided in the past few weeks that these were what he lived for. Good people, good food, even if the money aspect didn't always measure up. But he was getting by, and loving it, and that was all that mattered.  
  
The skinny red-head left with her friends, and since Beck couldn't help but pay attention he was already watching the door when a familiar figure ducked inside. His shoulders fell. "Damnit." He turned, determined to sneak back to the kitchen before he was spotted.  
  
"Beck!" the man's voice rang out over the main room, causing the remaining waiters to glance up in confusion. "Beck, it's me!"  
  
"I don't have time for you, Travis," Beck called back, not breaking stride in his escape toward the kitchen.  
  
"C'mon, Beck!" Travis Walker slipped through the tables; he was clad in old, frayed jeans and a green camouflage shirt with the words "Can't See Me" printed across the front. Beck found it unnaturally irritating that he had seen Travis enough in the last few weeks that he recognized the shirt as one he'd worn a few times. "Hey, I need your help--this one's easy, I swear!"  
  
"Excuse me, we're closed," said one of the waiters as he intercepted the uninvited nuisance. "You're going to have to leave."  
  
"No, wait, I'm a friend of Beck's--C'mon, buddy, tell them! I thought we were friends!"  
  
Beck stopped just as he reached the kitchen door. With a sigh he turned back. "It's okay, Rob," he called to the waiter. "He can stay."  
  
Travis puffed himself up proudly, giving Rob a superior look. When Beck rolled his eyes and started to leave again he hurried after. "Hey, I knew I could count on you, old pal," he said, chasing him into the kitchen. "I really need your help on this one--it's a matter of life or death, I'm telling ya. And I'll even pay you this time, I mean it."  
  
"No, you're not," Beck replied evenly as he made his way through the tables and stoves, making sure everything was being taken care of. "Because I'm not doing any 'jobs' for you."  
  
"But this one's different!" Travis insisted. He finally caught up to him and took his arm. "You're a professional, how can you--"  
  
Beck turned on him, his voice pitching seriously as he stared Travis down. "I am not a professional anything. I am a chef and a businessman. Now get out of here. And take some onion rings or something." He waved at what remained of their last batch for the night.  
  
"Sweet, onion rings. Thanks." Travis helped himself to one, but the distraction didn't last, and soon he was back to his pestering self. "Please, Beck, I really mean it this time. It'll take you...an hour, tops. You know you're the coolest guy I know--"  
  
"I'm not going to Mongolia," Beck interrupted.  
  
"You don't have to!"  
  
"Or South America, or Australia, or Canada--"  
  
"Aww, that wasn't so bad."  
  
"--or even New Jersey."  
  
"You're not still mad about the blonde, are you?"  
  
"Travis!" Beck gave him a shove, which if Travis hadn't been used to by then would have bowled him over. "The answer is _no_."  
  
"But Beck--"  
  
"No. I mean it." He turned away again.  
  
"Aw, don't be like that! I gotta get my poor little Gato back--"  
  
Beck paused at that, and though it was already a mistake--and giving him a headache--he faced Travis with a glare. "Your Gato," he echoed. He rubbed his temple. "Travis, the Gato is back in South America."  
  
"Not that Gato.  A different Gato--a more important Gato-- _my_ Gato! Please, Beck, you've got to help me get it back."  
  
Beck regarded him sternly for a long moment, judging his seriousness. By then all his workers were staring at him, making him shift uncomfortably. Finally, he sighed. "And you said it'd only take an hour."  
  
"Yeah--at max. It's just downtown--we can take your car."  
  
Beck's eyebrow quirked. They'd been through it several times before, and he knew it wasn't going to be any good, because Travis always won. Maybe he just couldn't stand up to a Walker; they were strange people, and they always had a strange effect on him. Damn Type A personalities or something.  
  
"Fine," Beck said at last. He was going to regret it. "Fine, I'm in. An hour, Travis--you've got to promise.  
  
"Oh, I do." Even Beck had to admit, Travis looked best with that wide, face-splitting grin of his. "Thanks a lot, man, you're really a pal." He scampered out the back. "I'll be waiting at the car!"  
  
Beck sighed in resignation. After making sure his employees knew what to do and giving Rob the keys to lock up, he made his way to the parking lot at the back of the building. Travis was waiting at his car, as promised. "So where are we going?" he asked as he approached, loosening his tie.  
  
"A club downtown," Travis said as they both got into the car. "But you gotta be careful--they're mean guys, the worst! I'll give you directions."  
  
"You know," Beck said, starting the car, "you really ought to be on medication."  
  
"Aw man, why do you have to say hurtful things like that?"  
  
Beck made a face. "Just give me the directions."

***

Twenty minutes and a migraine later they'd pulled up to a small downtown club on the east side of town, per Travis's directions. Beck parked and paid their way inside. He'd been to a hundred places like it, though despite Travis's warnings the clientele didn't look as threatening as some he'd been to. In fact, it just looked like a lot of kids having a good time. But Travis was nearly bouncing out of his shoes, so Beck allowed himself to be guided through the crowds to a group of guys at the back. They looked like wanna-be gangsters and weren't doing a very good job of it. When they came closer, a few mouths dropped.  
  
"Holy fuck," said one of the young men. "You weren't shitting us?"  
  
"No, I wasn't, was I?" Travis shot back. He gave Beck a shove as if to push him forward, but Beck didn't budge. He continued regardless. "I told you he was a friend of mine. Now you little punks are gonna get it!"  
  
Beck sighed as he looked over the group. He'd have to tease Travis later about not being able to handle himself against a bunch of kids. "Look guys, I don't want any trouble," he told them easily. "I'm just here to get his Gato thing back."  
  
The apparent ringleader pushed to his feet; quite an undertaking, given the amount of ugly metal popping out of his face. "Then you've gotta pay up. This bitch owes us five hundred."  
  
Beck's expression loosened in surprise. He glanced to Travis. "You owe them money?"  
  
"Just a little," Travis confessed sheepishly. "But...you can take them. I believe in you."  
  
"Gambling debt," the mock-gangster said, his hand sinking to his pocket as he regarded Travis's companion.  
  
Beck's eyes thinned, and after a moment he smiled grimly. "I'm disappointed in you, Travis," he said. He reached into his pocket, and though the younger men flinched it was only to pull out his wallet. "Gambling debts? You're going to turn into your old man."  
  
"It wasn't gambling, it was a dare," said Travis. "And they didn't need to break into my place!"  
  
"Collateral, you pussy. Are you paying up or what?"  
  
"Here." Beck pulled out a wad of bills and shoved them toward the kid, distracting him from whatever was in his pocket. He wasn't interested in getting into a knife fight tonight, or worse. "Five hundred. Now give him the Gato back and we'll leave you guys to your drinks." After counting out the money, the "leader" signaled to one of his lackeys, who disappeared into a back room.  
  
Travis, meanwhile, was staring at Beck in disbelief. "That's it?" he asked incredulously. "You're...not going to rough them up? Not even a little?"  
  
"No. I'm not."  
  
The kid returned, and to Beck's surprise the "gato" he held in his arms was no priceless artifact but...a cat. A real, living, orange cat. It was squirming, but otherwise looked unharmed. "Take it," the kid muttered, handing it over. "And next time, have your cash on you."  
  
Travis hugged the animal to his chest in relief, and Beck was certain he couldn't be more embarrassed until he started...cooing. "Aw, my poor little Gato! I missed you--they weren't mean to you, where they? Mean little bastards..."  
  
"We're leaving." Beck quickly turned Travis around and gave the boys a nod of thanks before leading them out of the club. He couldn't believe this. It was so ridiculous, so absurd--all of it--so much so that he almost started laughing. Almost. When Travis noticed the bitter amusement in his face, he was all too quick to comment.  
  
"What happened back there, huh?" he demanded in over-exaggerated Travis fashion as they left the club. "You didn't do anything! What happened to Option A and Option B? What about 'no breaks'? Man, I was looking forward to you creaming their little punk--"  
  
"It doesn't work that way, Travis," said Beck. "If you owe someone money, you pay up. Now you owe me five hundred dollars. Got it?"  
  
Travis rolled his eyes as he slipped into the car, cat in tow. "I can't believe you didn't even give them Option A or B."  
  
"Shut up, Travis."  
  
Then they were on the road again, putting all that silly nonsense behind them. Now that it was over, Beck felt a little better. It was hard to be annoyed when big adorable cat eyes were watching you. He smiled thinly. "So the cat's name is Gato?"  
  
"Yeah--she looks kind of gold, doesn't she?" Travis scratched the animal's head lovingly, causing it to purr. "I figured if I couldn't have the real thing, I might as well have the real treasure. A loving companion, aww...."  
  
Beck kept his attention on the road, but he couldn't help a smile. Travis may have been a pain, but...he wasn't so bad sometimes. It might have even been kind of nice to have someone with that much spirit around.  
  
"I'll give you a ride home."  
  
"Aw, what a pal."  
  
They pulled up to Travis's building several minutes later, but though he unbuckled he didn't get out right away. Instead he turned toward Beck, and for once his face was serious. "Hey. Thanks for backing me up tonight--I know it's dumb, but this cat means a lot to me. You know? Part of the family and all."  
  
Surprised by the other's uncharacteristically heartfelt tone, whatever remaining irritation Beck might have felt for the other abruptly drained away. He smiled sincerely. "You're welcome. Now stay out of trouble, all right?"  
  
"Yeah." Something mischievous crept into Travis's bright eyes. "Hey. I said I'd pay you, didn't I?"  
  
Beck snorted lightly. "You can't pay off a bet, but you're going to pay me?"  
  
"A promise's a promise."  
  
Travis set Gato down on the floor of the car and twisted in his seat, reaching to undo Beck's seatbelt. He was so puzzled by the abrupt action that he didn't think to react until those same hands were reaching for the front of his pants. With an ungraceful sound of complaint he tried to push him back. "Hey! What are you--"  
  
Travis leaned into him, cutting off the rest of his sentence off by pressing their lips together in a firm, somewhat clumsy kiss. It wasn't the first time Travis had come on to him but that didn't make him any better prepared to respond; he froze beneath Travis's broad mouth, allowing the younger man to slip his hands free.  
  
Beck was released just as he was running out of breath, and he gasped shortly to regain his composure. "Travis," he hissed, "cut it out--"  
  
Somewhere in his distraction--during the kiss?--Travis had managed to unbutton the front of his pants, and he wasted no time in slipping a hand inside. Beck probably could have stopped him if he'd reacted quickly enough, but already flushed and startled, trapped in the small confines of the driver's seat, he wasn't able to act before Travis had him. As soon as his most sensitive flesh was freed from his boxers it was enveloped in Travis's warm, wet mouth, stealing his ability to protest. His hand tightened convulsively around the steering wheel. "Damnit--"  
  
Travis took him in fully, relaxing his throat in the process--the firm suction of his mouth, the movement of his wide tongue, drew a heat into Beck's stomach and groin he hadn't quite experienced before. He clamped his jaw shut to keep from making any sound of contentment that might encourage the younger man.  
  
Damn Travis.  
  
Soon even those thoughts were wiped clear from his mind; Travis's wide mouth, which Beck had always admonished him for, drew tight around him and stole his breath. His fingers grabbed at Travis' scalp, foot heavy on the brake as he struggled not to push his hips up against that sweet, warm pleasure. All at once moist lips drew his climax from him, surging through him with a warm shudder, and he bit the inside of his lip hard to keep from making a sound.  
  
Travis made a subtle noise of surprise, and once his companion was spent he pulled back, gulping him down and wiping his mouth. "Jeez, Beck, a little warning next time, huh?"  
  
"W-Warning?" Beck sputtered, coming back to himself. "Next time--get out." He swore under his breath in embarrassment as he buttoned his pants back up. "What the hell's the matter with you?"  
  
But Travis only laughed, and when their eyes met again there was a glint in the younger man's face, a sly confidence that somehow told him...he would never be rid of Travis Walker. Whatever the hell they were.  
  
"Come on, big boy." Beck started when he realized that Travis actually was leaving, Gato cradled in his arms. "It wasn't so bad. You're not blushing, are you?"  
  
"Shut up, I'm not blushing," Beck muttered, though his hands fumbled a little as he buckled himself in once more. He didn't glance over again until he heard the passenger door shut, and he rolled the window down. "Don't forget you owe me five hundred dollars," he called after him.  
  
"What?" Travis's face appeared in the window with a frown. "You've gotta be kidding me. That wasn't a five hundred dollar blow--"  
  
"Forget it, forget it." Beck wiped a bit of sweat from his brow and shifted the car into drive. "Stay out of trouble--and back away before I run you over."  
  
Travis laughed, but he stepped back all the same. "Thanks for tonight, big guy," he said loudly. "I owe you!"  
  
Beck glared at him incredulously, and when Travis puckered his lips he groaned, and finally sped away from the curve. The last thing of the other he saw was a glimpse of his face in the rearview mirror. He was wearing that same damn cocky smirk.


End file.
